The Beginning, if There is One
by Pinnacle of Madness
Summary: Year one, AU. Things didn't go quite as planned the first time around, so a higher power stepped in and changed things around. How will Harry turn out now, if he learns not to take everything at face value? He begins his first year... in Ravenclaw.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** JKR owns Harry Potter. I'm just sneaking into her creative swimming pool at night... or something.

**Author Notes:** I was previously **Insane Slytherin**. This is _The Great Editing Movement of 2010._ Those of you with this story/me on alert are probably rather shocked to find that this is the only chapter left, and that it's nothing like what it once was. Not to mention the two years' absence and the change in name.

You see, I knew from the moment that I stopped writing this story that it wasn't very good. For a fifteen-year-old, maybe it was good, but that's just not good enough anymore. For the last two years I haven't been able to summon the interest, focus, or even the courage to _do_ something about it. Then I started reading fan fiction again. I'm seventeen now, and I've calmed down a lot. Now I actually stop and think about what I say before I'm going to say it. So, I'm applying all of that to this story.

This story will be nothing even remotely similar to what it once was. Bits and pieces of the general plot will remain the same, but there was a lot I didn't like and felt embarrassed by. Entire sub-plots will be removed, and entirely new ones will be created.

I want this to be big, but I can't do it without you guys. If you have any suggestions, any corrections, anything to say, please say it. I'm open to any suggestions, and I want as many people to be able to enjoy this story as possible. We've done this once before, I hope you all are willing to help me do this again, and make this story, this series better than it ever was before, better that it was ever going to be.

Thank you so much to everyone who has ever supported me. Please enjoy this story.

* * *

**Prologue**

_April 17th, 1985_

It was raining today.

In fact, it wasn't raining, it was pouring, and little four-year-old Harry James Potter of Number 4, Privet Drive knew what that meant.

"Boy, go weed the gardens! My tulips are being suffocated from the shoddy job you did of it last week!"

Every time it rained his Aunt sent him outside to weed. At least the rain today was rather warm, or Harry's fingers would have been too numb to grip the plants properly. Sighing, Harry sat up in his cupboard under the staircase and quickly began to dress himself. If he dawdled too much, his Aunt would come and get him with her screechy voice, her face blotched from yelling. Harry wasn't entirely sure why she always yelled at him when it made her face blotchy. Harry certainly wouldn't if it were him. However, last time Harry had asked her anything, she had yelled at him to not ask questions. He wasn't sure why, but obviously he couldn't ask her.

Harry pulled on his trainers by the back door and strolled resignedly out into the pouring rain and mud. He glanced up at the sky, searching hopefully through the clouds for a gap at the edge of the sky that might signal an eventual halt in the downpour, but he saw nothing but grey puffs swollen with water.

Remembering what his Aunt had yelled about the tulips, Harry wandered over to that section of the garden. One thing that Harry rather liked about the garden was its neatness and order. Harry liked neatness because as long as everything was clean and orderly, Aunt Petunia didn't yell at him. Well, she did, but not as much. Spotting an odd plant that he knew didn't belong there, Harry dramatically yanked the weed, threw it on the grass, and pretended to shoot at it as if it were an invading enemy. He had few toys and his chores were boring, so he used his chores to play games. Only when Aunt Petunia wasn't around, of course, because she always yelled at him when he laughed or played in front of her.

In the next ten minutes, Captain Harry tracked down three more enemy invaders and demolished them with his supercharged laser gun, leaving the Tulip Space Station safe and sound. Moving onto the Begonia Castle, Harry rose up to one of the weedy spies, only to draw back as he noticed a small snake lying peacefully beneath the weed.

Harry had only seen snakes in Dudley's cartoons before, and had never actually encountered one in the gardens. He remembered once last summer when he was too young to weed by himself and Aunt Petunia had been outside and screamed for Vernon to come kill one, but when Harry had tried to go over and see it, he'd been pushed out of the way and ultimately sent to his cupboard for being nosy.

Taking a closer look at the dark green snake, Harry couldn't see why Aunt Petunia was so scared. The snake was rather pretty, and its odd skin looked very smooth. When Harry took a step towards it, the snake looked up at him.

"Hey, there," Harry said soothingly to it, hoping it wouldn't run away. "You're a pretty snakie. Do you like the rain?"

The snake gave him what he imagined was a very shocked and insulted look and then, to Harry's great shock, spoke back to him. "Snakie? What _is_ a snakie?"

Harry stared for a moment, speechless. "Wow," he said, "you can talk? The TV never said snakes could talk!"

The snake looked even more confused. "What _is_ a TV? And why can you talk to me?"

Harry smiled. "A TV shows you funny pictures that move and talk."

The snake just stared at him.

Harry giggled a little nervously, not used to anything talking to him in a polite tone of voice. "What's your name?" he asked it.

"Name?" it asked. "Why do you say such strange things?"

"What do you call yourself?" Harry asked.

The snake seemed to consider this for a moment before saying, "I am He-Who-Swims-In-Shallow-Water."

Harry giggled. "That's a silly name," he said. "That doesn't even sound like a name!"

The snake moved a little so that it was sitting in a puddle. "It is what I am called in the pond where I dwell during the sunny days."

Harry smiled. "My name's Harry."

"That name is ridiculous," the snake said. "What _is_ a Harry?"

"I'm Harry!" he said.

The snake made an odd hissing noise that sounded like a snort. "You are strange and say things that don't make sense."

"But you don't make sense!" Harry practically yelled. "You're silly, with a name like Swims-In-Water!"

"It is what I do," the snake reasoned, "and therefore, it is what I am called, but there is no such thing or action as a Harry, so you are the one with the senseless name."

Harry wasn't sure what to say. He hadn't completely understood everything that the snake had said, since it spoke so oddly. One thing Harry did know, though, was that the snake looked so smooth. "Can I touch you?" Harry asked it shyly.

The snake gave him a contemplative look before acquiescing, and so Harry reached down to touch it, trying to be gentle. "You're so soft," Harry said happily, "and you're pretty. You're the same color as my eyes! My eyes are green, too, except you're darker and also brown."

The snake hissed happily. "You are a good One-Who-Walks-On-Its-Hind-Legs. Harry is a stupid name. I shall call you He-Who-Speaks-With-Ground-Dwellers."

Harry stared. "That's a very big name!" he said, "I don't think I can remember that!"

The snake gave him a rather annoyed stare before saying, "Then I shall call you Speaker. Are you able to remember that, you odd Hind-Leg-Walker?"

Harry nodded and smiled. "Yes! It's like my own code name!" he said happily.

The snake gave him a look. "What _is_ a code name?"

Harry laughed and stroked the snake happily. "Will you be my first friend?"

The snake gave him another look. "Friend? Like my brothers and sisters?"

"Sure!" Harry said happily. "Friends talk and have fun together! I never had one, but Dudley does, and I've always wanted one."

The snake nodded. "That is acceptable. I will return when the water falls from the sky."

* * *

**Author Notes:** I've decided to do that whole Harry-meets-a-snake thing. I've done my best to make him sound four. There's a three-year-old in my house, so I like to think that I did a decent job. I might stick the original Fates thing in later if there's a spot where it fits. We'll see.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. The next chapter should be up within the next couple of days, since I've written it once before, there will just be a lot of differences, as I said at the top of the page.

_Until we meet again,  
Pinnacle of Madness_


	2. Beginnings Are Always Hard

**Author Notes:** Only one new review so far. Ah well, at least it was a good one. Unfortunately, I am planning this as I go, so this chapter is a bit... I don't know. It's a lot more elaborate, at any rate.

* * *

_"Remember, beginnings are always hard and most are artificial. It was the best of times and the worst of times - really? When! And all happy families are not alike; even Tolstoy must have realized that. I can't get away with "In the beginning," or "They threw me off the hay truck at noon," or I would do it. I always get away with what I can, believe me." -_Lestat, The Tale of the Body Thief by Anne Rice.

**Chapter 1 - Beginnings Are Always Hard  
**

"Boy, get the mail!"

Once more, it was a typical day at Number 4 Privet Drive. Ten-year-old Harry Potter had woken up that morning to his uncle's angry voice. Apparently Harry had slept in, and though this would normally please his uncle because that meant that he didn't have to look at Harry before he left for work, he seemed to be in a particularly nasty mood today. Harry was used to annoyance and irritation being directed at him, however, and knew to just go along with everything that his uncle said and get out of his line of view as soon as possible, which Harry was quite eager to do regardless.

Quickly pulling on a very large shirt and a pair of socks with a hole in the left one, Harry opened his cupboard, blinked away the sudden morning brightness, and made his way over to the front door, only to stop short at the letter laying on top.

The envelope seemed to be made of an odd sort of paper, yellowish and rough. The address on the front read

Mr. H. Potter  
The Cupboard under the Stairs  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey

in emerald green ink. There was no stamp or return address. Harry wasn't sure what to think. He had _never_ gotten mail that wasn't some kind of report card or school letter, and even then it was addressed to his aunt and uncle.

_Speaking of which..._

The letter might be strange, but it was _his_, and Harry knew that his cousin would try to take it from him, even if his aunt and uncle didn't. At Uncle Vernon's angry, impatient shout for him to hurry up, Harry quickly grabbed the strange letter and shoved it into his pocket, confident that the bagginess would easily hide the fact that he had anything (he often sneaked small treats this way when everyone's back was turned). He grabbed the mail and headed into the kitchen, handed Uncle Vernon the other three letters, muttered that he wasn't hungry, and made his way out back.

Every few days Harry would come out back and talk to the snakes. He had started talking to them five years ago, and could never bring himself to stop. They were Harry's only friends, and that was fine with him, because they treated him a lot better than any people had ever treated him, except for maybe some of his teachers and the occasional stranger who bowed to him or shook his hand for reasons that Harry couldn't quite comprehend. Whenever he tried to say anything, they walked away rather quickly and seemed to vanish if Harry tried to follow them.

So, Harry contented himself with the snakes. It had started out with just the one snake (it was a Grass snake, Harry had looked it up in the school library), but that snake had found more snakes and told them about a Hind-Leg-Walker who could speak, and so for months more and more snakes gathered to speak with him every time they visited. Aunt Petunia had not seen a mouse or mole in five years. It had taken Harry a while to be able to properly understand them, they spoke so oddly, but now he couldn't get enough of what they had to say. The things they said weren't always the most interesting or informative, but it was the best conversation that Harry could hope for, so he listened to them discuss the large mouse they'd caught two weeks ago, or their favorite rock in the nearby pond that was always in the sun except during the night, or that irritating adder that must have been born from a crushed egg, it was so stupid.

"Good morning," Harry said as he approached the bushes where he hid himself and the snakes from his aunt and uncle. "How has the water been today?"

One of the two Smooth Snakes that frequented the chats rose up to look at him. "It is very cool today, as the sun is hidden from us with clouds. However, there is much water in the air, keeping us warm."

"That's good," Harry said, sitting cross-legged in front of them. "It is good when you are warm and leave your rock to speak with me."

Sunny-Rock-Dweller slithered over to Harry's lap, followed by a couple of adders, who then settled themselves, soaking up his body heat. Smiling down at his friends, Harry addressed the female whose eggs had recently hatched. "How are your young?"

"The twelve of them are very restless, but they are growing quickly. The One-With-High-Voice caught a young vole yesterday."

Harry nodded, then remembered his letter as one of the snakes moved over it. "Oh!" he said, pulling it out of his pocket. "I got this in the mail today!"

The snakes gave him odd looks, then settled, used to him saying strange things. "What is a mail?" asked the grandson of the first snake Harry had spoken to. That original snake, He-Who-Swims-In-Shallow-Water, had been caught by an owl two years earlier. Harry was rather sad, but there were so many snakes, Harry could easily distract himself from his grief. Besides, none of the snake's family were particularly concerned, since he had apparently lived a very long life, and death was a natural, everyday occurrence. They all killed their prey, after all.

"Mail is a way that humans communicate, by writing words on thin bits of trees and paying a mailman to bring it to someone else," Harry said, turning the letter over in his hands. There was an odd wax seal on the back, a crest with a badger, a lion, a snake, and an eagle, all surrounding the letter H. "You ground-dwellers are the only ones who might like to send mail to me, but you can't, so I usually don't receive any. I had to hide it because my family doesn't like it when I have anything that they didn't give me, and they don't like anything strange, and this letter is strange."

"How do you put speech on bits of tree?" asked one of the adders in his lap.

"We use ink or graphite to draw symbols on the bits of tree. Certain symbols mean certain noises, and we learn how to put those noises together in our heads to form words," Harry told her, opening the letter. "It's very useful."

The snakes understood the usefulness, but since they had no use for such things, they only hissed an agreement and waited while Harry read the letter. And read it again. And again,

"This must be a joke," Harry said, finally. He had explained jokes to them before, and they didn't quite get it, but they understood enough to know that jokes weren't always funny, and this one didn't seem to be one of the funny ones, if Harry's tone was anything to go by.

"What does this bit of tree tell you?" one of the Grass Snakes asked, lifting its head to gaze curiously at the words on the paper.

"It says that it wants me to go to a school for witches. Witches aren't real!" Harry said. It figured that the first letter that was only for him would be some kind of practical joke. Nothing ever seemed to go right. However, one of the more quiet of the Smooth Snakes spoke up at that.

"The ones who do things with sticks that smell of magic? My sibling's nest mate once met a snake that spoke of witches and magic. It was a strange snake, three with three heads that shared one tail," he said in an amused voice. "The head in the middle told her of the things that the magic could do, while the right head told the middle one that it was saying things all wrong."

Harry stared at the snake in shock.

"I once saw a magic stick make fire," an adder added in, not to be outdone. "There was no wood or dry grass, only nothing, then magic, then fire."

Harry didn't respond, lost in his thoughts. Magic? It had seemed to ridiculous at first, but now that Harry thought about it, there were a few times that strange things had happened to him. Last month, for example, he had been allowed to go with the Dursleys to the zoo for Dudley's birthday, and had spoken with a very large snake. When Dudley punched him and made him fall on the concrete floor, knocking the wind out of him and surprising him, the glass on the cage had vanished, allowing the friendly Brazilian snake to run away. There was also that time where Dudley and his friends had been chasing Harry, and when Harry went to dive behind the garbage bins, only to end up on the roof of the school. The worst (and most curious one) was when Aunt Petunia had come looking for him while he was chatting with his friends. She walked over and looked right at him through the bushes. Harry had been scared, scared that she would see him talking to the snakes and demand that Uncle Vernon come kill his only friends and that he would be punished for doing abnormal things, but even though his aunt had looked at him, she had not seemed to notice him or the snakes and kept looking.

Harry looked at the letter, then back at the snakes. "I think I believe it," he said, "but why now? And it says that they 'await my owl no later than July 31st.'"

The snakes made hisses of fright at the mention of owls. Harry sighed.

"If they really want you at school, then they will come and find you," the Smooth Snake told him. "You said when we first awoke from hibernation that young Hind-Leg-Walkers must go to school, and so if you don't go, they will come and get you. Yes?"

Harry considered this. He had no idea what they meant by the owl part, so he decided it probably _would_ be best to simply wait. Besides, there was still the possibility that this was all a joke, so waiting seemed to be a good idea. If his birthday came and went and nothing happened, then he would know that it had all been just a joke. Harry really hoped that someone came. He had been hoping for something like this ever since he was little, but this was the first time that something like this had happened. Harry _really_ wanted this to be real.

* * *

Seven days had passed and no one had come. Today was Harry's eleventh birthday, and the last day that the letter said that they would wait for his 'owl'. If someone was going to come, then they should have probably come today, but nothing had happened. No more letters had arrived, and Harry had walked into the kitchen on the morning of the twenty-eighth to find his Aunt Petunia dying some of Dudley's old clothes for his secondary school uniform. She had then given it to him today as his birthday present, grey, loose, and ugly. His Uncle Vernon had given him an extra piece of bacon that he hadn't felt like eating, and Dudley had given him a punch in the stomach, which was no more than Harry had expected.

Resigning himself to his (rather unfortunate) life, dreading having to wear his "uniform" come September, Harry feel into a rather uneasy sleep.

The next morning found Harry again surrounded by his friends, sunbathing alongside them.

"Nobody's come," Harry said. "I guess it was a joke."

"Perhaps," one of adders said. "Some mice we are not meant to catch."

Harry giggled slightly at the odd metaphor and closed his eyes, smiling at the feel of one of the younger snakes shifting by his arm. As long as he could keep his friends, he supposed he could get through the next few years. Then when he turned eighteen, he could go live elsewhere and bring them with him. He'd buy a small house, he wouldn't need much, but it would have to have a decently-sized backyard. Harry would make a pond if there wasn't one already, plant tall grasses and arrange a lot of rocks. He would plant a couple trees, but not too many, so that the owls would have few perches and not all of the sun would be blocked. He would open his house to them in the winter should they wish to have a warm place to hibernate. Maybe he would dedicate a room to them, fill it with heated rocks and some dirt. He would have to have a mat in the doorway to the rest of the house, of course, so as to not track dirt throughout the house.

Lost in his daydreams, Harry hardly noticed when his friends stopped gossiping on the tastes of moles versus mice. He didn't notice the cat that wandered into the backyard and looked straight towards the bushes. He didn't hear the soft 'pop' as the cat grew and shifted. He _did_ notice, however, when the snakes suddenly began crawling away, frightened by the vibrations made by the footsteps of the woman who had been a cat a moment ago.

She was a very stern-looking, elderly woman. She had black hair that was up in a bun, wore rectangular spectacles, and wore a very odd, dark-blue cloak.

"Harry Potter?" she asked.

Harry looked at her curiously, then nodded. Then the woman did something that Harry was sure she didn't do very often – she smiled.

"I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You received your letter, correct?" she asked him.

Harry nodded, still speechless.

"Was there a reason that you did not reply?" she asked him, frowning now.

Harry gave her an incredulous look. "What did you mean about an owl? So I'm really a witch?" he asked excitedly.

Her frown deepened. "Wizard. Did you not know? Did your relatives not tell you?"

In his mind, Harry laughed at the mental image of his uncle sitting him down and telling him of magic. Outwardly, he simply shook his head. The woman, McGonagall, looked very angry for a moment, told him to wait, and made her way to the back door.

Harry looked after her in amazement, too shocked to move. This was too good to be true. The letter had been real. Harry might have thought that it was still a joke, but there was something about the self-proclaimed Deputy Headmistress that implied that she didn't joke. Harry was sorely tempted to follow her into the house, but she had told him to wait-

"HE WILL NOT BE GOING!" his uncle's voice suddenly broke the silence, loud enough for Harry to hear it clearly. "HE WILL NOT BE PART OF THAT- THAT- _FREAKISHNESS_! I'M NOT PAYING FOR HIM TO-" The yelling was suddenly cut off.

Harry watched the back door apprehensively, half expecting his uncle to storm out, grab him, and throw him in his cupboard.

Nothing happened for a very long time, and just as Harry was thinking that he might have imagined it all, the woman strolled out, her face tensed and angry. When she looked at him again, however, her face softened and she looked almost sad.

"Come, Harry," she said soothingly., "it seems that I have a lot to explain." She motioned for him to follow her, and led him through the gardens, across the street, and into an alleyway nearby. She double-checked that nobody was watching them, and telling him that this would feel very odd, she took Harry's arm and spun on the spot.

Harry found himself feeling like he was being compressed and squeezed through a tube less than half his size. He couldn't breathe or move. He tried to flail, scream, do _anything_, but he couldn't.

Thankfully, the feeling was gone after only a few moments, and Harry found himself in the downright _oddest_ place that he had ever stepped foot in. It was _magical_.

There were buildings of varying shapes, sizes, colors, and materials on either side of the cobblestone walkway. Some of the signs flashed different colors and fonts, trying to attract attention. The signs themselves read odd things like, "Eeylope's Owl Emporium" (what _was _it with the owls?), "Scamander's All-Purpose Apothecary", "Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions", and much more. Almost every store had samples of its wares in front, with cauldrons, pickled lizard skins, books on various hexes, and an array of screeching creatures and things that didn't quite _look_ like they were alive all spilling out onto the street. The entire walkway was bustling, congested with people. And the _people_, how strange they were!

Harry looked up to Ms. McGonagall in wonder, and she smiled at him.

"Welcome, Mr. Potter," she said, "to Diagon Alley."

* * *

Harry's favorite part was the books.

Ever since he was six, Harry had taken refuge in the school libraries at lunch time. He might never have thought of it before, but he had wanted to look up what type of snakes he was talking to, and when he walked out of the library as lunch ended, he realized that he hadn't seen Dudley once. Better yet, when he went back the next day, he realized how much _fun_ it was to read. The stories were funny and interesting, and he could imagine that all of the interesting things in the book were happening to him. Dudley never found him, and his aunt and uncle never bothered to check his backpack for anything (though Harry always made sure to only bring home non-fiction books, just in case). Books were something special for him, and the books in the store "Flourish and Blotts" were better than anything that he had ever seen.

Even though the odd proportions inside compared to outside implied that the store was already expanded magically on the inside, books were still piled to the ceiling, on top of the shelves, next to the register, and fit into every possible nook and cranny so that there was barely room to walk. Professor McGonagall only gave him a fond look when he immediately filled his arms with more than his supply list called for, helping him by casting charms to lighten them.

Harry's second favorite part was the animals.

Ever since an owl killed his first friend, Harry hadn't been a huge fan of owls, beautiful though they were. Harry did go and look at the snakes, but they were all much too flashy for his tastes. He figured that he could simply bring one of his garden friends along, if one of them agreed. Probably not one of the adders, since they were poisonous, though it was a mild poison. Remembering the list of acceptable animals, Harry had wandered over to the cats.

There were cats of every possible breed, even breeds that Harry was sure didn't exist in the non-magical world. There were large orange Tabbies, boisterous Calicoes, burley Maine Coons, delicate-looking Russian Blues, and odd ones like miniature lions, bright red fluffy ones with two tails, and mysterious deep-black ones with no discernible pupils in their black eyes and black, forked tongues that darted out to lick themselves clean. Harry eventually chose a small, friendly Russian Blue, to which McGonagall nodded her approval.

The rest of the day was a blur. The Goblins fascinated him. The clothes amused him. The magical instruments and devices mystified him. Everything seemed so surreal, but it was _wonderful_.

Harry was rather disappointed to discover that he had to go back to the Dursleys on September 1st, but McGonagall reminded him sharply that he had more than enough to do now, and that he would be at school for over nine whole months every year for the next seven years, and should enjoy some freedom while he could. Harry didn't bother trying to contradict her.

"Here is your train ticket," she said, handing him a slip made of similar material to his Hogwarts letter, which Harry had discovered was parchment. "In order to get onto the platform, you will need to run through the barrier between Platform 9 and Platform 10 at King's Cross Station. If you're still unsure, arrive a bit early and watch the platform carefully, you'll see others run through, just follow them."

Harry nodded and thanked her. She gave him a fond look.

"Your parents were great wizards, Mr. Potter. I look forward to seeing what you are capable of." She winked and was gone the moment Harry blinked, leaving him on the doorstep of Number 4 with his trunk in one hand and a wicker basket holding his cat in the other. Sighing, Harry set down the basket and knocked politely on the door, and waited a moment before his pale-faced uncle opened the door.

"Hi," Harry said awkwardly. "M-May I come in?"

His uncle gave him a look that was somewhere between anger and fear, then opened the door all the way.

"That- _woman_ insisted that we give you Dudley's second bedroom," Uncle Vernon said with an air of great reluctance. "You're to move all of your- _freakish_ things up there, and you're not to be around us any more than necessary. You're not to talk to us, especially about _your kind_. Got it, boy?" he growled.

Harry rolled his eyes, nodded, and started making his way upstairs with his trunk, thankful for the charms that McGonagall had cast on the books, already trying to decide what to read first.

* * *

Having only left his room to eat, use the bathroom, or talk with his friends, Harry had read almost all of his books by the time August 30th came around, and he was more eager than ever to see it all in person again.

Apparently, owls were used to deliver mail, which amused Harry greatly. Ghosts _existed_, as did dragons, unicorns, fairies, mermaids, and everything else out of myths. The three-headed snake that one of his friends had mentioned was, in fact, a Runespoor. Normal people were called Muggles. The most common wizard sport was Quidditch, which was played on flying broomsticks. The real witches that were caught in the original witch burnings could easily freeze the flames and live with the Muggles none the wiser.

Harry told these stories to his friends, delighting in everything that he learned.

"Hogwarts is a boarding school," Harry told them on August 30th, "which means that I'm going to be gone until next summer."

The snakes shifted around him. "That is a shame," one of them said, "you are warm and pleasant conversation, and it is fun to brag to others about knowing a Speaker."

Harry smiled at them. "I'll be back, just in time for some of the new young ones to hatch," he assured them, "and I've also a request to make of you."

This surprised the snakes. He never asked for anything besides company and conversation, sharing his body heat and occasionally catching mice for them in return.

"I'd really love it if one of you went with me," Harry told them. "It is a bit colder there, but the books tell me that it is a large castle, and I'm sure it's filled with many mice. I can carry you with me, share my heat, and learn spells to warm you." He watched hopefully as hissed at each other.

"I would like to come!" the great-grandson of Harry's first friend, a young one, spoke up. "It sounds very interesting! Are there more Hind-Leg-Walking-Speakers like you?"

Harry considered this question with a frown. "I'm not sure," he said. "I haven't read anything on it. That will be one of the first things I look up," Harry assured the small snake, "since the books speak highly of a large library in Hogwarts."

The snakes watched in mild interest as the small Grass Snake wound itself up Harry's shirt and onto his shoulder, resting there.

"I shall come," one of the female Smooth Snakes said. "I like seeing new things, and Hind-Leg-Walkers are amusing. I shall be content so long as you help keep me warm and well-fed."

Harry smiled at her and held out his hand for her to crawl onto. He was glad that she had decided to come, she was one of his favorites.

Giving the snakes his farewells, Harry wandered back inside, happy that he would have friends with him at school. He had never gotten along very well with people, so having someone to talk to and bounce ideas off of would be very nice. For all that snakes didn't necessarily know a lot, they could be very wise. They had a lot of common sense, and Harry appreciated the way that they thought.

With magic and his friends on his mind, Harry crawled happily into bed and fell into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

It took surprisingly little convincing to get Uncle Vernon to drive Harry to King's Cross Station. The car ride was awkward, but there had been little shouting over the past month, so convinced were his relatives that he would turn them all into frogs if they angered him. Harry did nothing to dissuade that thought.

Arriving at Platform 9, Harry found a bench and sat down, his trunk and cat (who he had named Gwendolyn) on the trolley in front of him. While he waited patiently for someone to walk through a wall, Harry spoke as quietly as possible to the Grass Snake (He-Who-Zips-About-Playfully, or Zips, as Harry called him) and the Smooth Snake (She-Who-Speaks-Wisely, or Wise). They were a little freaked out by the noises, and it was only the reassurance that they could not be seen through Harry's clothes that kept them in place.

It was a severe-looking woman with an odd hat who finally drew Harry's attention, as she had a boy next to her who seemed to be pushing a trunk in front of him that was similar to Harry's. Harry watched them closely as they strolled casually through the crowd, only to vanish through the wall to the right of Platform 9. Harry stood up and, ticket clutched tightly in his left hand, began to walk in the same direction where he had seen them disappear. He looked at the wall and noticed that none of the stones were chipped or otherwise worn down by age as it was with the rest of the Station. Magic.

Harry walked purposefully at the wall, blinked, and suddenly he was on the other side, staring at a bright red train and a sign that said "Platform Nine and Three Quarters".

Trying not to stare too long at the children and tearful parents around him, Harry pulled his luggage onto the train, searching until he found an empty compartment. With a lot of difficulty, Harry finally managed to get his trunk up onto a storage rack. He let Gwendolyn out of her crate, sat down with a copy of _Hogwarts, A History_, and tried to read as he heard a whistle sound in the distance, signaling the departure of the train. However, the words on the pages flew right out of his mind the moment that he read them, too excited was he by the castle that he was soon to be living in, surrounded by things that he had never known existed until a month ago.

Harry Potter was going to Hogwarts.

* * *

**Author Notes:** A couple things to note about this story:

-The Parseltongue has been written as normal speech up until now because Harry doesn't quite realize that he's speaking a separate language. I will start writing it in bold or italics or something when he realizes that nobody else can understand him.

-There is a lot of snake interaction going on because that's all that Harry has as friends. Dudley chased away any potential human friends, so they're all that Harry has to talk to so far. He _will_ eventually talk to people, there just haven't been a lot of people to talk too, and Harry certainly had little reason to talk to any of the people who he did see, with the exception of McGonagall. Both of the snakes will go into hibernation come October or November, so the Parseltongue will stop for the most part at that point until April or so.

Questions? Suggestions? Criticism? Praise? Let me know.

_Until we meet again,  
Pinnacle of Madness_


	3. The Most Constant of Friends

**Author Notes:** I ended up beating myself up a lot over this chapter. This is his first real interaction with anyone.

Apologies on this chapter taking so long compared to the other one. Now that Harry's interactions have increased, I have to consider everyone else's reactions. Also, reading other fan fiction has had me thinking on how I want to include some of my favorite characters (and I don't mean people like Draco Malfoy, don't worry). There's so much to be done and thought up, and it's been a long time since I've had to think on such things.

On the other hand, I would have had this posted long ago, but real life interfered, as it often does. My great aunt Helen Greenbaum, eighty-seven-year-old concentration camp survivor, died just after midnight on July 15th, survived by her sister and my grandmother, Rosalie Wattenberg of ninety-one, her son, her grandson, and her great-granddaughter. It was the first funeral that I'll be able to remember, the last one being when I was three or so. We were quite a bit aways from home for a while. Second, we moved. In fact, we're still technically in the process of moving. We finally got our internet up. I won't be able to be on the computer as often as I used to, so I'll probably be writing a lot of my chapters by hand from now on.

**IMPORTANT:** It has not been four years between updates, it's been a month or so. I'm a pack rat, I like to keep things up, including reviews.

* * *

"_Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wisest of counselors, and the most patient of teachers."_ -Charles W. Eliot

**Chapter 2 – The Most Constant of Friends**

Harry had always been very adaptable – a byproduct of having grown up with the Dursleys – and thus it was not long before he calmed his excitement so that he could read. It would be quite a few hours before the train got there, after all, so why should he get excited now when this was only the trip there? Reminding himself of this a few times finally calmed him down enough to be able to concentrate on _Hogwarts, A History_ again. The book mentioned apparation, which Harry was planning on looking up the moment he had access to the legendary library that was also mentioned in this book.

Unfortunately, it was also not long before a redheaded kid wandered into Harry's compartment, distracting Harry from his book just as he had begun to focus again. The boy was rather tall and looked somewhat disproportionate, with rather large hands and feet. He was covered in freckles and had a dark spot on his nose.

"Sorry, anyone sitting here?" he asked, pointing to the seat opposite Harry. "Everywhere else is full."

Harry shrugged and tried to go back to his book. As long as he wasn't terribly distracting, why should he care? The boy sat down and stared out of the window after one last glance at Harry.

"Hey, Ron."

Harry and the boy (Ron, he supposed) looked up to see two identical twin boys standing in the doorway. They were also tall, with red hair and freckles, and Harry assumed them to be his brothers.

"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train – Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there," the one on the right told him.

"Right," mumbled Ron.

The twins glanced at Harry and the one on the left said in a rather teasing voice, "Aw, ickle Ronnikens is making fwiends already! We're so proud!" At this declaration, Harry immediately buried himself in his book and tried to ignore the redheads.

Ron mumbled something in return as the twins left the compartment, but Harry, who was specifically trying _not_ to be a part of these goings-on, didn't catch what he said.

Silence reigned the compartment for a few minutes more, something which Harry was thoroughly enjoying, but then the boy decided to introduce himself.

"I'm Ron, by the way," he said rather nervously, "Ron Weasley." He held out his hand. Harry stared at it in confusion, then realized that Ron wanted to shake his hand. Hesitantly, Harry reached out his own hand, clasped Ron's, and gave it a little shake before pulling back quickly. Ron gave him an odd look, then shrugged, pulled back his own hand, and relaxed in his seat, folding his arms behind his head. He looked at Harry a bit longer, then when Harry didn't volunteer any information, asked him, "What's your name?"

Harry shifted in his seat and, reluctant for anyone to start making a big deal out of him, simply replied, "Harry."

Ron nodded, then frowned slightly. He glanced at Harry's forehead, but Harry's bangs were covering what he was looking for, so Ron said nothing. After all, Harry was a rather common name, something which Harry had always been grateful for. Careful to not jostle his bangs, Harry did his best to ignore the boy and went back to his book. Ron apparently got the hint and went back to staring out the window.

An hour or so passed in silence, once again to Harry's delight, until a lunch cart came rattling around and a lady with a rather cheerful face poked her head in the compartment.

"Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Ron mumbled something about sandwiches, but Harry hadn't brought anything, so he stood up to get some food, finding the snacks to be rather odd. The trolley had things like Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and Chocolate Frogs and such. The gum didn't sound terribly appealing, but the Pumpkin Pasties sounded delightful, as did the Chocolate Frogs. Harry _never_ got sweets unless Dudley decided that he didn't like something, which didn't happen terribly often when it came to sweets. Harry also bought some Cauldron Cakes and a package of some oddly-shaped nougats that seemed to change colours every time Harry looked at them.

Ron stared a little as Harry walked back into the compartment with an awful lot of sweets, then chuckled a little. "Hungry?" he asked, amused.

Harry nodded shortly, sat down and began slowly making his way through his pile, savoring the taste of everything. The Pumpkin Pasties tasted a lot like that slice of pumpkin pie that Harry had gotten once at school when their teacher (who was a former baker) had decided to treat them all. Luckily, the teacher's watchful eye had kept Dudley from stealing Harry's slice that time. The Cauldron Cakes were little cauldron-shaped biscuits with different fillings as the 'potion', most of which tasted like some kind of fruit. Harry particularly enjoyed how the filling seemed to bubble and steam much like how he imagined a potion would. The Chocolate Frogs did their best to jump out of the wrapper the moment Harry opened them, but he managed to catch them all in mid-jump and immediately bit their heads off. The nougat had at this point turned an odd magenta-orange-fluorescent green, but still tasted like nougat. Harry slipped Wise and Zips small pieces of nougat when Ron wasn't looking, but they spat the pieces back out into his pocket, loudly proclaiming them to be more tasteless than a week-dead mouse. Harry glanced up to see if Ron had heard what they said, but Ron didn't seem to notice anything, so Harry didn't try to reply, only stroked them a little in apology.

Of course, being sugary treats, the snacks filled Harry up rather quickly. Seeing Ron looking in disgust at his sandwiches and muttering angrily about corned beef, Harry decided to offer some of his extras to Ron, since Ron had been so pleasantly quiet for most of the journey so far.

"You- you sure?" Ron asked, looking a little longingly but apprehensively at the pro-offered sweets.

Harry shrugged and muttered, "Yeah, you were quiet."

Ron gave him another odd look at his reasoning, but happily accepted the nougats and Chocolate Frogs, eagerly opening the frogs first, only to pull out a card underneath the frog. He seemed to find it disappointing, however, and tossed it aside saying, "Bridget Wenlock again."

Harry looked inside his discarded Chocolate Frog wrappers and found similar cards, all describing a witch or wizard and something that they had done. Harry soaked up the information eagerly, even asking Ron if he could read his if he gave Ron all of the cards that he got (Harry wasn't terribly interested in collecting them).

Just as Ron was finishing up his share of the sweets (Harry had gone back to reading), a round-faced, dark-haired boy who looked rather upset stuck his head in, sniffling slightly.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

Ron shook his head and Harry shrugged, making the boy wail, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

Harry felt rather sorry for the boy. Harry would certainly feel upset if one of his friends wandered away on this train, with its narrow corridor and teenagers who didn't ever seem to watch where they were placing their large feet. "Maybe you can ask one of the older students about spells to help you find him," Harry suggested, making Ron jump, since he hadn't exactly said a lot on the trip. "Magic can do some amazing things, I'm sure there's a spell to help locate him or summon him or something."

The boy thanked them and left the compartment looking not quite as miserable, though still teary.

"Don't know why he's so bothered," said Ron. "If I'd brought a toad, I'd lose it as quick as I could."

Harry gave him a cold look. "Just because you don't like toads doesn't mean nobody else does either. I happen to like reptiles in general."

Ron blushed and looked rather sheepish, muttering something about how he hadn't meant it quite like that, but Harry had already gone back to his book. He had finished _Hogwarts, A History_ fifteen minutes ago and was now absorbed in _Basic Spell Pronunciation: How to Get the Best Effect with the Least Effort_ by Samuel Corrington. It looked to be a bit of a boring read, but it seemed like a rather good thing to know, and it was short enough that Harry figured he could get through it easily enough. It was fascinating how much pronunciation could affect the spell and how it turned out, especially sensitive ones like conjuration, preservation, and some of the more powerful protective spells. This was why non-verbal magic could be so difficult, because the words carried a lot of intent with them, and completely erasing that intent and forcing the spell through only motions and pure will was exceptionally difficult if you were lacking in both that will and confidence in what you were doing. Of course, both of those got easier if you did it once, but doing it that once was-

The compartment door opened again, and the boy with the lost toad poked his head in, this time smiling.

"Hey," he said, "thanks for your suggestion. A fifth-year summoned him for me." He held up his toad, which was croaking innocently in his hand.

"No problem," Harry said, smiling back. "I know I'd be devastated if I lost Gwendolyn." He gestured to his cat, who had been until now sleeping in a corner but had awoken at the sound of the toad and was eying it. Ron jumped at the sight of the cat, having obviously not noticed it until Harry pointed her out. The boy with the toad nodded.

"I'm Neville," he said, holding out the hand that wasn't occupied by Trevor. Harry put down his book and stood up, taking Neville's hand.

"Harry," he said. To his relief, Neville was either polite enough to not look towards his forehead, or he just didn't think of the possibility. Or maybe he just didn't care.

"Well, thanks again, Harry," Neville said, retreating from the compartment. "I reckon I'll see you at Hogwarts."

Harry nodded absently, for once not returning to his book but petting Gwendolyn, who had stood up and was now meowing, asking for attention.

Ron gave Gwendolyn a hard look, to which the cat responded by leaping from Harry to Ron and sniffing at Ron's pocket.

"Gerroff!" Ron yelled, pushing at the cat. "Scabbers is in there!" He clutched at his pocket protectively. A rat poked its head out of the pocket, then withdrew back in at the sight of the cat. Gwendolyn, however, made a facial expression that seemed to be the equivalent of rolling her eyes and made her way leisurely back to Harry, as though she were the most important being in this compartment and the rat and Ron were below her. Harry laughed silently at her antics. This was why he loved cats.

Nothing terribly notable happened through the rest of the train ride. As the sun began to set, the corridors became a bit busier, and people started poking their heads into compartments as they passed, possibly looking for their friends. Harry and Ron decided that this meant they should change into their robes. Harry had of course pulled his out before putting his trunk on the rack, and watched in some amusement as Ron struggled to get his out without knocking the trunk off. Harry told him to keep the rest of the sweets and put them in his trunk while he was up there; no reason to have the chocolate melting in their pockets. He then spent a couple minutes coaxing Gwendolyn

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Harry smiled a bit as they made their way slowly out of the crowded train and onto the dark, chilly platform. The air smelled fresh, lacking in the constant passing of cars that came with Privet Drive and Muggle towns. A lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students and Harry heard a very loud, deep voice calling out, "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! C'mon, now!"

A very large, hairy man carried the lamp, beaming out at the group of preteens in front of him. "C'mon, follow me – any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

The group of students stumbled down a very dark pathway with nothing visible on either side. Squeezed towards the edge of the path due to its narrowness, Harry felt the brush of trees that must have been on both sides. Aside from the shuffling of feet across the leaf-laden ground, there was little noise to be heard.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in sec'," the large man leading them called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud, "Oooooh!"

The pathway had opened up rather unexpectedly on the edge of a large lake. On the other side of the lake at the foot of a mountain was a magnanimous castle, larger than anything that Harry had ever seen. The first years clambered rather eagerly into the awaiting boats sitting by the shore in front of them. Harry got into a boat with Neville, a girl with pigtails, and a boy with rather long, thin limbs. With a shouted, "FORWARD!" from the large man, they were launched across the lake simultaneously, quickly gaining distance, drawing closer to their home for the next seven years.

"Heads down!" the large man yelled as the boats approached an opening in the base of the mountain on which the castle was perched. They bent their heads as the boats carried them through the wide opening, down the length of a dimly glowing tunnel, until they reached an underground harbour and got out of the boats. The large man led them up a passageway until they came at last on to damp grass to the left of the castle. The man led them up a wide flight of stone steps and crowded around an enormous oak door. The man yelled out a check to make sure everyone was with him and knocked loudly on the door three times.

The door swung open immediately, revealing a familiar face.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said the large man. Harry smiled a little. He didn't mind Professor McGonagall terribly, she didn't say mean or unnecessary things for illogical reasons. She had led him through Diagon Alley and only said things if it was something that seemed important or to answer a question that he had asked.

"Thank you, Hagrid," she said, addressing the large man. "I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was enormous. You could hardly make out the ceiling, and the marble staircase that lead to the upper floors was easily thirty meters wide at the base. As they passed the second-biggest door in the hall (the largest was the front door), they could hear rather loud chattering, implying that the rest of the students had already arrived and were waiting in there. Professor McGonagall led them past that door into a small room off to the side where they crowded in.

Harry listened intently as Professor McGonagall explained the basic goings-on revolving around Hogwarts life. The house names were rather odd and mildly amusing. The name 'Hufflepuff' made Harry think of someone who had been running a long ways. Ravenclaw made him thing of something sharp. The point system sounded a bit mean in that it encouraged peer pressure and competition (something that Harry wasn't terribly fond of), but as long as everybody left him to his friends and his reading, he didn't have too many issues with it. After all, he didn't exactly _plan_ on getting in trouble. Really, unless the rules were utterly ridiculous or extenuating circumstances came to light, what was the point of rule-breaking? He didn't see why people were so fond of it. Of course, that might have had something to do with his upbringing at the Dursleys, but still.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school," Professor McGonagall concluded. "I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." Here her eyes lingered on wrinkled clothes, food spills, and the smudge on Ron's nose. "I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly." She left the room.

Uncertain on what to do (he didn't particularly care how he appeared before the school), Harry walked a few steps over to Neville, who was looking rather pale.

"So," Harry said to him, "what house sounds best to you?"

Neville jumped at the sound of Harry's voice, then turned and said, "Merlin, Harry, I didn't hear you walk up!"

Harry gave a barely-noticeable smile to the jumpy boy.

Neville realized that Harry had asked a question and mumbled, "W-Well, my parents were Gryffindors. Gran says I'm more Hufflepuff material."

Harry thought about what he had read on the houses in _Hogwarts, A History_. "So, you're more loyal and hard-working than courageous? That sounds just fine."

Neville nodded slightly, still looking very nervous. "W-What about you?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm not exactly courageous, and I don't think that I'm cunning or ambitious. I suppose I'm loyal enough, and I like to read."

Before Neville could reply, a loud shrieking was heard, and they turned to see about twenty ghosts float through one of the walls, discussing the fate of someone called 'Peeves.' What an odd name. As a rather pudgy ghost with a friendly smile was expressing his wishes for them to be in Hufflepuff, Professor McGonagall returned.

"Move along now," she said sharply. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start. Now, form a line and follow me."

Harry got in line behind a girl with rather bushy hair who seemed to be muttering information to herself, and Neville stood behind him, paler than ever, his toad clutched tightly in his hand. They were lead out of the room and back towards the second-largest door and into the Great Hall.

It was everything that _Hogwarts, A History_ had described and more. A vast amount of candles lit the room, floating above their heads. The ceiling was enchanted as the book had said, reflecting the sky above them. There were four long tables where the students were sitting, and a fifth at the front of the hall where the staff sat. That was where they were led, ending in a line facing the students in front of the teachers. Professor McGonagall placed a sturdy wooden stool in front of the first years and a very old, frayed hat on top of the stool. Harry took an immediate liking to the hat. Old, beat-up things had personality, and this hat looked as though it had the most developed personality of any inanimate object that Harry had ever seen. It was, therefore, to his great astonishment and amusement that the hat suddenly opened a rip near the brim and began to sing.

Harry looked on in delight as the hat described the four houses. A talking hat! A singing one at that. The book hadn't mentioned this! Taking a closer look, noticing how some of the hidden wrinkles were darker than the smoother surfaces of that hat (which appeared to be a faded brown), Harry realized that the Sorting Hat (as it called itself in its song) had once been a sleek black. It must have been around for a very long time to have faded to almost a light brown. The minds that this hat must have seen into!

..._You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!_

The Great Hall burst into applause as the Sorting Hat finished its song and bowed to the students. The relief was visible on the first years' faces now that they realized there was no real test, nothing like the troll that Ron had been whispering about back in the room where they had waited.

'When I call your name," Professor McGonagall said suddenly, now holding a long list, "you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Abbott, Hannah!"

Abbott Hannah was a small girl with blonde pigtails near the end of the line, and after a moment of sitting on the stool, she was pronounced to be a Hufflepuff, as was the girl behind her, Susan Bones. It was the table on the right that burst into applause as the two girls were sorted. The next two students – Terry Boot and Mandy Brocklehurst, went to Ravenclaw, the inner-left table. The outer-left table burst into cheers as Lavender Brown became a Gryffindor, and the inner-right table clapped as Millicent Bulstrode became a Slytherin. Now that he knew which tables held which students, Harry began examining them. The Hufflepuffs mostly had bright smiles on their faces, welcoming Stephen Cornfoot rather brightly as the hat declared him to be one of them. The Slytherins weren't exactly smiling brightly, but they weren't exactly scowling in irritation either. Most of them managed to look completely indifferent while still giving a warm welcome to Vincent Crabbe. Harry wondered how they managed the contradiction while all the while looking dignified.

The Ravenclaws were paying close attention to the sorting and cheered in a composed yet pleased manner as Kevin Entwistle made his way to the house of wit and learning (according to the Sorting Hat). This was the table that looked the most pleased to be there, with nowhere near the amount of students glancing longingly at the empty plates in front of them as there was in the other houses.

The Gryffindors were easily the loudest when it came to their welcome, Harry noticed as Seamus Finnigan joined them. They also seemed to be the most physical in their welcome, jumping up and down in their seats, pounding the backs of the male first years rather enthusiastically as they sat down, and generally being the rowdiest without being quite out of control. It was a delicate balance and it amused Harry to no end.

Harry smiled in an encouraging manner as Neville was called to try on the hat. It took a rather long time to decide with Neville before it declared him a Gryffindor. Harry inwardly laughed a little. That was good, Neville could certainly do to be surrounded by such loud people, as the boy himself seemed rather nervous. Morag MacDougal became a Ravenclaw, and the hat had barely touched the platinum blond head of Draco Malfoy before declaring him a Slytherin. Harry noticed that the Slytherins clapped just a little bit louder at that. Perhaps he already had some friends there, or perhaps they just liked the look of him. Harry had come across the name Malfoy quite a few times in some of his more modern reading, and he imagined that some of that talent and fame could easily be carried on to descendants. Harry had recognized a few other names, actually. He had come across Longbottom a few times, and he was pretty sure that he had seen Smith and Greengrass once or twice as well. Funny how that happened, Harry mused.

Lilith Moon, Theodore Nott, and Pansy Parkinson also became Slytherins. Padma and Parvati Patil were split between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor respectively, Sally-Anne Perks became a Hufflepuff, and then -

"Potter, Harry!"

The whispers were the worst part, and Harry for the first time since arriving at the castle felt something that wasn't bemusement and insatiable curiosity. He resisted the urge to glare at the student population as his name was echoed infinitely many times through their mouths, though he did shoot a look at Ron when he muttered, "I _knew_ it!" This was exactly why he preferred his friends to most people. They were perfectly happy to lay with him and gossip about their food. _They_ didn't stare at him like a freak because he could talk to them in the way that everybody here seemed to be staring at him, just because he had a bloody _scar_ on his forehead (which Harry had purposely kept hidden).

The hat was very large and easily covered his eyes, something which Harry was very grateful for since it meant that he didn't have to look at him.. Then the hat started speaking to him.

"Hm, difficult. Not exactly courageous, but definitely not fearful, either," the hat muttered as it sifted through his head. "Very loyal once someone befriends you, and a Parselmouth, too. I haven't seen one a snake speaker in fifty years."

Harry made a mental note to not speak to his friends in front of the students. Fifty years was a large enough gap that he was pretty sure it would draw attention, and that was the last thing that he wanted.

"Very personal and secluded," the hat observed, continuing its analysis. "No Gryffindor for you, I think... Or Hufflepuff. You have a bit of a Hufflepuff personality, but I don't think their openness would suit you... Ah! I know – better be RAVENCLAW!"

The last part was shouted for the Great Hall to hear, and all of the composure that Harry had seen earlier at the table on the inner-left was discarded in favor of the uproar that followed the hat's announcement. Harry noticed the look of disappointment on the faces of the other houses, which only made him walk all the more quickly to his table – yes, it was now _his_ table as well as theirs, what an odd feeling – and focus his sight rather pointedly on the remaining first years, praying that Professor McGonagall would get on with it so that they would stop focusing on him and whispering so loudly and obviously, speculating on what he was like and getting it all dreadfully _wrong_. Harry sighed a little in relief as the woman finally continued now that the applause had died down enough for her to be heard again, and Ellen Rivers had her moment with the hat before becoming a Hufflepuff.

Of the remaining first years, Sophie Roper, Marian Strout, Dean Thomas, and Ron became Gryffindors, Edith Runcorn and Zacharias Smith joined the Hufflepuffs, Blaise Zabini walked away a Slytherin, and Lisa Turpin sat down next to Harry when she became a Ravenclaw.

Albus Dumbledore, a very tall, very odd man got to his feet and spread his arms towards the students, beaming as if their very presence made him the happiest man alive.

"Welcome!" he said, his voice very loud and strong for such an old man. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!" And with that, he sat back down. The Great Hall applauded as food appeared before them. Harry couldn't help but wonder if he was a bit mad. Then again, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Pleased with the thought of having a brilliant yet barmy man for a headmaster, Harry served himself some sausages, potatoes, peas, and a bit of gravy to go on the potatoes. It was the best meal that he'd had in a long time, full of carbohydrates and proteins that he saw little of at the Dursleys', who preferred to feed him things like cheap greens, the smallest, driest pieces of meat that none of them would touch, and the stale bread. Of course, it meant that he would never end up like his cousin (something for which Harry was extremely grateful, for while some plumpness was perfectly alright, Dudley took it to an extreme that Harry had no desire to touch upon), but Harry would have liked to indulge himself every now and then with things like steak, potatoes, puddings, and other such heavy, delicious foods.

"So, I'm curious, of what blood are all of you?" Terry Boot asked the rest of the first years, smiling kindly. "I'm pretty much pure blood, though my paternal grandmother was muggle-born. What about you?"

The girl sitting next to Harry tossed her curly blonde hair and replied, "I'm a half blood. My mother's parents were a lawyer and a novelist. My mom-"

Harry was only half listening, content to eat and look curiously around the hall again, now that he was no longer waiting anxiously for anything. He glanced behind him at the loud Gryffindor table just in time to see the ghost amongst them pull his head off, much to the amusement and disgust of the first years. Harry made eye contact with Neville and gave the boy a friendly nod, which took the wide-eyed boy a moment to return. Deciding that the Gryffindor table held no one else of interest, Harry turned to look at the Slytherins. They too were chatting amongst themselves, but none of them were smiling, though a boy with white blond hair seemed to be smirking at something. The Hufflepuffs were laughing uproariously at something, probably something to do with that small blushing kid at the far right of the table.

"What about you, Potter?"

Harry jumped, reflexively swallowing the large lump of food in his mouth to avoid choking on it. He waited a few seconds for the too-large mouthful to stop hurting as it traveled down his esophagus, then turned to his house mates, still rather surprised that he had been addressed.

"What?" he asked them, having tuned out the conversation.

A rather dark skinned boy gave him a bit of a half-smile and asked,

"What about you? Do you play Quiddich at all, or fly?"

Harry took a moment to remember what Quiddich was, then another to think of how to answer.

"Well," he said finally, "there was never much of a chance for me to play Quiddich or fly at home. It looks like fun, though," he added in hastily, not wanting to sound like he thought too strongly either way. He really didn't like attention on him, and would much rather nobody try to argue their point to him. Thankfully, when Harry turned back to his food, they began a conversation amongst themselves about strategy in Quiddich and which ones seemed to work best.

Harry turned to look at the staff table. There weren't a whole lot of staff, only fifteen individuals (if more weren't elsewhere), but this was a small school. Every single one of the people sitting up at the table was extremely different from the next. There was a ghost, a bubbly woman in muggle clothes, a pale and irritably looking man with dark hair dressed in black robes, the elderly and odd man in the center who Harry knew to be Albus Dumbledore, a stout woman with a kindly face, a very short man who had to sit on a stack of pillows to reach the table, a dark woman with long hair and very glittery jewelry, and a man who while he did not look older than fifty, was covered in a vast array of scars and held his fork rather shakily, since he was missing his pinky and ring finger. Harry glanced curiously at the other hand, only to realize that there wasn't one. And this were just the ones who caught Harry's attention right off.

Dinner had vanished at this point to be replaced by dessert, which was just as vast and varied a selection as dinner had been, but Harry was extremely full from dinner and could only eat a few bites of cool mint ice cream before putting his spoon down. Harry was exhausted at this point, and was nearly falling asleep in his seat when dessert finally vanished too.

The Hall quieted and Professor Dumbledore stood up.

"Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered..."

Harry listened, not wanting to miss anything important. It was interesting how this man seemed to command silence. Nobody was whispering, the only voice echoing through the Great Hall was Dumbledore's. Well, and his friends were quietly discussing the odd scents that permeated the room, but they couldn't exactly understand Dumbledore, so his bearing had no effect in silencing them.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

This was surprising. What was in a school that could possibly be harmful? And why was this apparently the first year that they'd had an announcement like that?

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry stopped listening at this point, and did his best to ignore the terribly off-tune singing that was being bellowed all around him. When Ron's brothers had finally stopped singing, Harry joined the other first years in his house on the way to bed. Or at least, he assumed so, he was _exhausted._ All he could think of was nice, warm blankets wrapped around him.

It took them about ten minutes and a dizzying staircase to reach the door. There was no visible way to open it, only a bronze knocker shaped like an eagle. The student leading them raised his hand to the knocker, knocked once, and a musical voice suddenly spoke.

"If a dragon roars and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?"

The older student turned to them and explained. "Unlike the other houses, we have no password. Instead, you are presented with a question. If you can answer this question correctly, then the door opens for you. If, however, you cannot answer it, you must keep trying until you answer correctly, or else wait here for somebody else to get it right. This way, you learn." He turned to the door and answered, "The sound exists, because even though no one is around, they would hear it if they were around."

"Logically stated," the voice said, and the door swung open. Harry got the impression of a spacious room and a lot of blue, but he hardly noticed everything else as he and the first year boys were directed to their dormitory. He changed silently as the other boys chatted, and climbed into his bed, asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

* * *

**Author Notes:** You know, I'm a huge Slytherin Harry fan, and that was originally what this story was. He was originally in Slytherin, and they originally spent a lot of time trading pointless insults or making lame banter.

However, characters sometime become something of their own, and this version of Harry, as he is, is not a Slytherin. In a way I'm disappointed, but I'm also glad. I would have a lot of trouble trying to include the complex social dynamics of Slytherin on a daily basis, and Harry wouldn't be able to properly get anything done in there. He just wouldn't. So, I'm following my gut on this one. I hope you guys enjoy it!


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